


Werewolf Studies 101

by oonaseckar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Cosmetics, Cultural Appropriation, Gen, M/M, Makeup, Professor Derek Hale, Scott McCall wears makeup, Stiles Stilinski Wears Makeup, Teacher Derek Hale, Teacher-Student Relationship, Werewolf Danny Mahealani, appropriation - Freeform, entitlement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 12,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: Prof. Hale's class is only open to werewolves.  It'sso unfair.  And Stiles isvery determined.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 73
Kudos: 295





	1. course requirements

_**Module** : Advanced Lycanthropic Rite, Myth, Theory and Practice CSG:101_: this course gives a highly advanced overview of both theory and ritualistic practice in the liminal journeys between states of preternatural lupine being. _Course tutor*: Prof. D. Hale, Lupine Studies Department._

There was an asterisk by the module name and code, on the photocopied sheet of the freshman modules for the next academic year. It was pinned up on the Xenobiotic Studies department noticeboard, where Stiles was standing staring up at it. The relevant footnote read, 'Registered lycanthropic status is a prerequisite for attendance, including capacity for participation in lupine transformation on this course. Exempted from the Supernatural and Natural Equality and Parity bill 2015.'

Stiles could have sworn he felt his blood fizz and sublime a little, as he stood there and read it, squinting up close so no errant syllable might escape him. Not that everyone – including Scott - hadn't said, already. 'Yeah, it's supposed to be am amazing module. Yeah, access to the Hale family library. I know, man, running as a pack and writing a term paper on it! Networking with every other pack on the coast, induction in pack communion levels, lab research on the molecular basis of transformation. No, man. Hale has _never_ allowed a human on the course, not in the six years it's been running. No, you can't sue the college. It's an exempted case, man.'


	2. little ole rulebreaker Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Stiles likes a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title adapts the title of a Dean Martin song I believe, Little Ole Wine-Drinker Me.

But it had been a long time since the last time that Stiles had recognized rules and social pressures as adequate reasons not to go after something that he wanted. That was the reason that he found himself outside the tutorial office of Professor Hale, at 5 p.m. that same day. Shadows were lingering and lengthening in the corridor, and the cleaners murmured and set vacuum cleaners purring on the floor below.

His office was up on the fifth floor of the department building, a nice corner office reflecting his status in the college: a regularly published academic star, with a few pop-supernatural science books to his name and the odd intellectual chat-show appearance. By academic standards, a superstar.


	3. Chapter 3

Whistling to himself, thinking about what Scott had had to say, warning him off. As if Scott knew a damn thing. Including about lycanthropy, even.

“Not your average Alpha, that's what they say about him.” Scott, standing in front of the department notice board looking up at the pinned-up, separated sheets of the new semester prospectus, listening to the daffy, vacuous chat of Isaac burbling about his latest crush, and that was what Scott was saying to Stiles. Not that he was paying a vast amount of attention. He was too busy staring at the page of final-year options and advanced credit courses, focusing on one line, tuning out anything that Scott had to say about it.

Just because Scott was a wolf, and he was human, it didn't mean that he knew everything. It didn't mean that Stiles knew nothing. “I'm taking the course,” he said, though. Just because he wasn't listening, didn't mean he wasn't talking. And he ran a finger over the line of print, reaching out: _Lupine Cultural Studies, 101_. “You know how many people got onto either of the masters courses I want to do without it, last year? Two. Out of a couple of _hundred_ , two.” He sighed. “Professor Hale can't actually bar me from the course, Scott. That would be racist, or speciesist, or something, I'm pretty sure. And I'm qualified and interested and I _need to take this course,_ god damn it. And I'm reliably informed that I'm _extremely persuasive.”_

Nice, smart, _lupine_ Scott turned around and leaned against the noticeboard, folding his arms, sighing and raising his eyebrows at poor silly human Stiles. “No, Stiles. He can't _bar_ you, he can't single you out as specifically banished. But that's not the same thing as being obliged to _accept_ you, either. Not when he has three candidates for every place. And everybody _knows_ , Stiles. He's never accepted a human student onto _Advanced Lupine Cultural Studies and Rites._ Why don't you just take one of the beginner or intermediate courses? The other professors will accept humans: even _Hale_ will accept humans, for beginner courses.”

And Stiles didn't stamp his foot in response, in his new boots. That would have looked silly, and made him feel petty. But he wanted to. He slung his head back, eased his neck on his narrow shoulders, and stretched up his hands to fluff up his hair as he groaned. “I've already taken all the pre-transformation courses, Scott! I need a practitioner-level course, and this is the only one approved and practically guaranteed to get me onto a supernatural studies masters. Seriously, though. What problem does this asshole have with humans, anyway? Is he some kind of bigot, or what?”


	4. Chapter 4

Scott looked irritated, his face screwed up. Maybe not angry enough to wolf out, though. Hopefully, anyway. “Stiles. Try to look at it from the other point of view. What if he was teaching a class on spousal abuse, for women, and you were a guy shouting about sexism because he didn't want to let you register for the course? You know, if you think you're so hard done by, you might want to remember: it's still werewolves who face more discrimination than humans in almost every area, from employment to the military to freedom to assemble and associate. God, in some states we weren't even allowed to marry humans up until… Anyway. And I don't mean just people born into packs, but bitten wolves too. Just the _accident_ of being in the wrong place at the wrong time with a rogue wolf and getting bit, could get you what amounts to a bar from joining the police, teaching in public schools, or holding public office, babe. Seriously, Stiles, in some states the old legislation still hasn't been overturned. How about a little cultural sensitivity? It's not a question of being an _asshole_. There are good reasons for legally protected discretion like this in certain cases.” And now he was standing with his hands on his hips, gazing at Stiles where he was still giving most of his attention to the list.

Stiles turned to him and sighed, his face screwed up, the tip of his nose pinked up, even, with frustration and longing. “Yeah. I hear you, Scotty. I do. I appreciate the principle of professorial discretion within the bounds of legality and statutory requirements. But I'm applying for this course. And I'm getting _on_ it, too. In fact, I'm going to go talk about it to Professor Hale, today.”


	5. Chapter 5

He did just that. Because Stiles was a pro-active kind of a dude, and when he set his mind on something, then pity the thing upon which his mind was set, for there was no quarter given and no escape. He didn't invite companionship along on his journey, but in the event he got it anyway. Mostly he got it anyway because he had his statistics class right before, with Scott. And Scott, when he had a mind to be, was a limpet who couldn't be dislodged.

But walking over to the _Supernatural Studies_ building, he sighed and checked his phone, and pretended not to be really listening to Scott talking, as he determinedly chattered on. “You know,” Scott said slightly severely, “I still don't really approve of this. The course is restricted to wolves-only for good reason. Have you even had a look at the prospectus and course description? Attendance at sacred rites is a required practical element of the course. You have to function as part of a pack! You have to run with wolves! Stiles, how the hell are _you_ going to run with wolves? It's not _optional_ , you know. Without participating, you'll fail the module and there'll have been no point you kicking up a fuss and stamping your feet and insisting on being allowed onto it in the first place, will there?”

Then he reached across as they walked and stole Stiles's phone out of his hand. Waving it around in the air – unfairly using all his wolfy agility – he kept it out of reach, laughing and teasing. “See, I've got your attention now! Now are you going to listen to me?” But finally, he got serious, though he didn't give the phone back, and insisted on talking instead.

Stiles sighed, went along. With Scott, it was just easier. Anyway, the one werewolf friend he had was a useful resource, considering his desired career path. It wasn't as if he wanted to alienate him. “I know all the requirements, Scott,” he said, pacifically. “Contrary to what you're suggesting, I've read all the information on the course and I know what I need to do to pass. Yeah, I have to attend private pack-related rites. And Prof. Hale – they say – holds that up as a reason why he doesn't allow humans on the course. But not all werewolves feel that way, and there are a few courses at other colleges where humans are allowed to register, and get sponsored by the college and the course tutor to attend pack events.”


	6. the things that I couldn't change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Toshikazu Kawaguchi's _spectacular_ and _inspirational_ Before The Coffee Gets Cold.

“ _Discretionary_ , Stiles,” Scott reminded him –- annoying in his own wonderful way, spinning around as he took a few dancing steps up ahead so that he could walk backwards and talk to Stiles while he was doing it. “Discretionary. Those courses, the profs allow humans to register –- sometimes. They sponsor them with local packs –- at their own discretion. It's not a right, it's not something you can demand. And Prof. Hale is the leading authority in the field, the most respected researcher and writer, he's actively spoken out against human attendance in wolf-safe spaces and dedicated courses, and in the end it's up to him. I just don't want you to be disappointed, hun. Remember, he's under no obligation to do a damn thing. He doesn't have to take you on the course, he doesn't even have to listen to you. He could perfectly well just tell you to get the hell out, read the course requirements that specifically bar human-students from enrolling on Lupe 101, and just turf you out of his office. And then phone up the other profs and get you black-balled from all supernatural modules, so will you _just_ ,” he said, waving his hands in the air and almost battering his way into a knotted bunch of other students coming his way but walking the right way, “ _back the hell up_ and consider. And, you know, maybe _not_ do this?”

Maybe he was right, Stiles didn't know exactly. “Why are you so set on this?” Scott asked, exasperated. “Anyway.”

But it only got Stiles's back up, accentuated his natural stubbornness. “Could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out, sharp. “Why are you so set on me _not_ doing it?"


	7. Chapter 7

Scott sighed. “Because I know damn well you'll get me tangled up in it somehow? Because I'll wind up registered for it too, when all I want to do is finish up my pre-veterinary modules and graduate quietly, without getting mixed up with any packs at college, without any supernatural funny business, without registering for lunar runs and getting on government agency radar? it's all right for you, Stiles. You didn't grow up with all this nonsense. I'm telling you, it's a lot less glamorous and more of a pain in the ass, if you did.”

“It's not about glamour,” Stiles said quietly, and grabbed at Scott's hand, to drag him the right way about and keep him on his feet, and also to speed him up and get him at least inside the door of the Supernatural Studies building. Prof. Hale's office hours only lasted another hour, and Stiles might need every one of those sixty minutes to motormouth his way onto the course he'd set his heart on. “You know it's not. It's about...” He waved his hands, incoherently. He'd talked it into the ground with Scott, so often, that at this point he could hardly find the words to begin all over again.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Scott said wearily, shouldering his way through the swivel doors of the building as they hit it, talking over his shoulder and through plexiglass at Stiles. “Boy, that little cult you grew up in has really done a number on you, Stiles. Bringing you up to believe that all supernaturals were the seeds of the devil, pariahs, cut off from civilized society... Well, dude. Kudos to you for breaking out of that. But here where the mouthbreathers don't live, we've been living in harmonious community with supernaturals for most of this century and the last, now. It's not such a big deal. And just like a lot of social groups that encounter some kind of bias or discrimination, they get kind of a free pass when it comes to certain rites and community events. They get a little _privacy_ , Stiles. And they don't always like that privacy and those safe spaces being intruded upon. I can tell you from experience with certain members of my own family,” he said, with a real 'hell, yeesh' expression on his face, “that they really, really, really, really don't. And when I say really, I mean _really_.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Really?” Stiles asks, cheeky. They're standing in the middle of the foyer of the Supernatural Studies building, by this time. The receptionist's office is through a glass door off to one side, and although they're standing right in the middle, it's not like there's lots of room to be had. It's a busy thoroughfare, and there are hordes of nattering students, teachers, admin staff and wandering hoboes, passing them and eyeballing them and bumping into them, while they stand and chat. They don't take any notice. Scott and Stiles are hardcore.

They're standing there, and Stiles should be moving. He should be busting his ass, to get to Prof. Hale's office before he closes up for the day. He's a little concerned, now, though. Scott has got to him. “Do you think he'll even listen to me, Scotty?” he asks, concerned. “I mean, I've heard a lot of things about him. Not _bad_ things,” he hastens to add. Because Scott may distance himself from the werewolf community local to their Ivy League college for his own reasons, but that doesn't mean that he can't get defensive about it. “What's he like? You've met him once or twice, right?”

Scott shrugs, hoists his backpack higher on his broad shoulder. He has his own lecture to get to, in the next building over via a subterranean corridor. And he gives Stiles a still faintly exasperated look. “Not to say _met_ ,” he clarifies. “I've attended a couple of his public lectures, yeah. Which is what _you_ should do, and it would be way less entitled and demanding than turning up at his office and stamping your feet, demanding that he let you onto a wolves-only course.” But from Stiles's stubbornly blank, vacant expression at that little barb, he's clearly, resolutely not going to listen to this tack. So Scott aborts and continues. _Redirects_. “And I was at a departmental drinks party that he attended, too –- not a _guest_ , I was making hourly rate as a server. That was when I was interning last summer. He seems like a decent guy with strong views, that's all. Views that he's _entitled_ to, Stiles. They say he's not your average Alpha –- and I think it's true. From what I saw you might not even realize he _was_ an Alpha, with his own multi-county pack, not if you didn't already know. He's an intellectual, an academic, soft-spoken, mild-mannered. And a hard-liner, when it comes to the sacrosanct nature of wolf spaces and rites and practices. He doesn't see any reason why wolves should allow their practices and beliefs to be co-opted into the mainstream, Stiles. It's called _appropriation_. You might know it as patronage. And frankly, he has a point. He's not going to let you on the course, Stiles.”


	9. Chapter 9

But Scott has somewhere to be, right now. And if he can't talk Stiles out of it –- well, he _can't_ talk Stiles out of his hare-brained scheme, it's clear by now –- then he'll just have to leave him to it, to sink or swim or drown. He pats his buddy on the arm, and gives a little eye-roll that might as well vocalize that hands are being washed, here. And he says, “Good luck,” in a tone of voice that clearly means _you'll need **all** of it._

Stiles feels a little bit of uncertainty at being dumped in the middle of a public thoroughfare by a good friend. A friend, someone with his best interests at heart, who has advised Stiles against his proposed course of action and then left him to it, shaking his sassy brunette head.

But Stiles doesn't, generally, have much truck with uncertainty. And true to form, he shakes it off now. Yeah, so Professor Hale bars humans from his advanced wolf practice courses. Yeah, he's never been known to make an exception to that inflexible rule. He's an immovable object, if ever one existed.

There's not an immovable object in the known universe that's yet encountered Stiles, though. Otherwise its status wouldn't still stand. Stiles rolls up his sleeves, and retrieves his determination, and sets off for Hale's office, head high and heart pumping adrenalin.

xxx

The Supernatural Studies department is well-funded, and the building is nice, _super_ -nice for a university department. (There are whispers that the defense department and the weapons industry divert funds in that direction, quietly fund supes research and collaborative studies. The problem being, now, that these bodies are heavily policed and monitored regarding government funded research, what with the public, the media and official governmental mouthpieces being hot on any suggestion of invasive manipulations and infringement of minority group rights. Even legitimate research is difficult to get funded, at least without a significant proportion of occult practitioners on staff. And few 'gifted' or preternatural-status scientists want to work with the military at this point, even two or three decades after a series of scandals, and some leaks involving pretty ugly experiments. If they could even be _called_ that.)


	10. Chapter 10

And Stiles stands outside Professor Hale's office, when he finds it. He hesitates, looking at the office hours notice tacked to the closed door. He's only got half an hour left to talk to Hale, which perhaps explains why he's the only one hanging around the door of a popular and prolifically published professor. It would be easier if he didn't already know that his request is controversial, and almost certainly going to piss Hale off. And if he's even to stand the remotest chance of talking him into it, he's going to have to prove every one of the hard-earned debating society skills he's acquired, in many years of extra-credit extra-curricular activity.

So he stands in front of the door in the deserted corridor, and lifts his hand to knock on it. Still, he doesn't quite get there, still hesitates. God knows how long he might carry on doing just that, without fate taking a hand and giving him a nudge. It's probably a good thing when the door opens on his fisted hand, without the knuckles ever actually touching the polished wood.

It's a bit of a shock, though, it has to be said. He's left gawping like an idiot, heart pounding at being discovered lurking and haunting the place like this. He's staring pop-eyed at the man –- the werewolf –- who's staring back at him. Not unreasonably staring, really, all things considered. Hale's the one who recovers first, not surprisingly. Not surprising, considering that –- just like the very mundane human Stiles _is_ , and has proven himself to be –- he's forgotten, until this exact moment, just how sharp and alert werewolf senses are, including hearing. The professor has –- must have –- known all along that he's been standing there, like some creepy stalker. Or like a yellow-bellied timid undergrad, with a question he's afraid to ask. Yeah, especially that last.


	11. Chapter 11

It's embarrassing, but Stiles rides right over it and gets to the point. Because that is his specialty, doing what needs to be done no matter what it costs him. (How else could he have ever cut free from his upbringing? Considering that separating himself from it tore something in him that's going to be bleeding for years, ripped flesh and left psychic wounds that may never heal? It had to be done. He did it. He thinks sometimes –- all the time, about his aunties, about crazy Nanna and his Dad's refusal to cross her, to defy the madness. About their obsession with supernaturals, 'gift' people, to the point of taking him out of school and home-schooling him when the little girl he was sat next to in second grade was witch-kin. And _nobody_ does that anymore. But his family did it. His clan did. Still do, where he left them, always will probably. His name is cursed amongst them. They'll never speak it again.)

He's three, four steps over the threshold, as he –- Professor Hale –- says, “I assume you're here for my office hours. Or my... near-the-office hours.” He quirks a grin at Stiles, and it's surprisingly charming. He hadn't expected Hale to be this young. Or hot. Which is stupid, because werewolves are always hot, it's a noted _thing_. Hence all the romance novel bullshit and the myths surrounding alpha's sexual potency... “We could still stand out in the corridor and do this, if you're more comfortable that way.” Stiles hadn't expected him to be funny, either. “So, what can I do for you?”

And silly fluffy-headed Stiles stands there, in Hale's office, with the Professor standing at the threshold and scratching his attractively dishevelled head, puzzled, at him. What an idiot Stiles is, flustered and unprepared.

Yeah, it's true, it's an honest reaction. But Stiles has learnt –- in twenty years on the planet, much of it lived in the equivalent of an enemy state where he was a double agent, loving and fearing the people he lived amongst, plotting his escape –- to use his honest reactions in the service of achieving his objectives. And he smiles, wide and innocent, aware of the pretty flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks, of how it makes him look younger than he is, and less acute, less of a schemer. Politics, Stiles thinks might be his eventual destination. Somewhere after academic research, with a supernatural specialty. And journalism.


	12. why the world wags, and what wags it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is T.H. White, 'The Once and Future King'.

“I have a difficult question to ask,” he says. He lets his voice waver just a little bit, as he says it. “That's why I couldn't make myself knock on the door, just now.” Jesus, how _attractive_ Hale is. And Stiles definitely shouldn't be getting derailed by this. This is par for the course with wolves –- magnetically attractive, genetically blessed unless you adhere to the unfashionable view that they're genetically _cursed_. He's looked, of course, already, at what few pictures of Hale are publicly available. There are a minute number on the college website, a very, very few on published interviews. Plus a couple on his published lay-audience books, rather than the academic tomes he churns out, one every couple of years. Those, they are abstruse, densely researched and almost unreadable even for Stiles, the eager, hot for extra credit, academic-in-training.

The pictures do not _remotely_ do Hale justice, as might be expected. He's –- it's irrelevant. He's not _picture-perfect_ photogenic-type handsome, anyway. In theory his face is too –- too –- too something or other. Stiles isn't an artist, he can't define what, exactly. One of those faces put together in such an idiosyncratic style that it _shouldn't_ work. And yet in practice, everything balances out so perfectly, is so expressive and loaded up with personality and humor and something both kind and tough-minded –- how can Stiles know that at just one look? It's... 

People must fall for Hale, instantly, all the time. Stiles can see it, feel it.


	13. Chapter 13

_Irrelevant_.

In any case, he looks at Stiles thoughtfully for an instant. Then he brushes past him, to sit down in one of the visitor chairs. There are two, both plush leather, swivel, more expensive than standard college office furnishings. The momentary brush gives Stiles –- well. It's probably static. He picks up static shocks easily, all the time. Some people do, some don't. Everyone knows that. He's not sure, can't tell, if he's imagining it when he thinks that Hale casts a glancing look at him –- barely flickering –- as he walks past.

No, no, _naw_. Imagining it, Stiles is _imagining_ it. Seated, Hale puts one arm out and indicates the other chair, for Stiles to sit down too. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt, his arms are nice -- what a stupid observation, he's a muscled preternatural wolf, of course he's beautiful and lithe. 

“Well,” he says, as Stiles obediently parks his ass, “difficult questions are usually the interesting ones. Why don't you have at it. I can only say no.”

It's an expression, it's a turn of phrase, that's all. And it makes Stiles' heart sink. It's like Hale _knows_ , before Stiles even opens his mouth, what he wants, what he's going to say. But no, Hale doesn't, and can't, he reassures himself. And it spurs him on. There's a tingle of trepidation down his spine, when he opens his mouth and says, “Professor Hale. I know you have a bar on admitting human students to the senior year _Lupine Cultural Studies_ course that you teach. But–-”

“But you'd like me to re-think my policy, and make a special exception in your case,” Hale breaks in and finishes for him smoothly, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. He's slightly more smartly dressed than most professors on the faculty, in a plain dark blue suit and open-necked shirt, his suit jacket slung over the back of the chair. His dark hair is a little mussed, that fascinating face slightly browned with all the summer sun they've been having. And a little flush of egregious health on there, too.


	14. Chapter 14

As far as he knows, Stiles never laid eyes on a werewolf _once_ , not until he was sixteen. (Legal emancipation, running away to the big city, working his way through community college, bereft of his family at their insistence, a choice made: there are so many terrifying and formative memories associated with that time, that encountering his first wolves is hardly the most searing. Since then he's known a few, though there's only Scott who's a close friend. They've all been beautiful, remarkable, _noticeable_.

In a way, and it's strange, Hale is the least remarkable werewolf he's seen. He's handsome, true: on an assymetric, subtle, almost _human_ level. There is some kind of aura about him, too: but it's less about the enticing charisma that Stiles has noticed in other wolves, than a warmth that only gradually dawns upon the recipient. It's a _glow_ , and a keen level of thoughtfulness and attention that strikes you in the clear bright glint of his eyes, the quick responsiveness of his smile. All this, within minutes of meeting him.

If Stiles didn't _already_ know it, though, he'd never know that Hale is a werewolf. He just comes across as a regular, highly socially-able guy. A very warm, personable dude. Leaning forward, he's closer to Stiles. Close enough, that Stiles can see that he's a little amused. That he's examining Stiles' face. Stiles isn't going to describe it as 'checking him out', because he's not Scott, and he has a little class. But, sure, his eyes are roaming Stiles' face, coming back to Stiles' own eyes. 

Lots of eye contact. He's evidently big on eye contact.


	15. Chapter 15

He doesn't reach out and pat Stiles' knee, at this point –- but Stiles can tell that he'd like to. Stiles is a highly intuitive person, and he can see the quick skim down of Hale's eyes to his knee, and that he actively refrains. Faculty-student interpersonal relations seminars, the effect of them is clearly visible _right there_ , and it's fairly funny. It tugs at Stiles' mouth, so that he has to actively repress a grin. Hale does lean in just a fraction closer, though. And that's as he says, “I can appreciate that it was probably difficult for you to come here and ask me for this type of special treatment, to allow you onto the course. I can tell, since you hesitated outside my office for so long, I was worried you were going to change your mind and run away!” And his eyes crinkle at Stiles, in a little grin that is frankly just adorable. Stiles can't himself believe that he's having these kind of thoughts about a werewolf. A werewolf! (And a professor, for that matter). But overall he has a good feeling about this. A _terrific_ feeling.

He feels like he's worked his way into getting Hale to understand, convinced him that it's important for Stiles to attend, to register. Already! And they've hardly talked yet, he's barely sat down with him! Stiles can hardly believe that it's been this easy. But Hale _likes_ him. Maybe it's _because_ he likes him. Stiles can tell, he can always tell. A guy can tell, right?

And here, Hale's face gets more serious. Stiles has never seen such a sincere, lovely expression in his life. Something in Stiles melts a little. Maybe he likes Hale too. Yeah, he likes him too. “You know, I get this exact request a lot. And I want you to know that I _appreciate_ the request, and I applaud anyone seeking to educate themselves about minority groups within our society and community. I want you to understand that the registration requirements for my senior-level courses are not about exclusion, but rather about a place of safety and communal history for all participants. What's your name, sweetheart?”

 _Sweetheart_. But honestly, it wouldn't rankle with Stiles, if only he couldn't tell exactly which way the wind is blowing. If he didn't know that he'd jumped the gun assuming that he'd hit the jackpot, convinced Hale to let him on the course with his _sad puppydog eyes_ and _trembly mouth._ That only works on _much_ older guys than Hale. And little old ladies. Not hot dudes who are probably –- _actually_ –- used to students trying to talk their way onto courses, into better grades, into their professor's bed... probably. Yeah. He looks at Hale, wordless. 

Hale must get a lot of that. Wow. Stiles has been a real idiot.


	16. Chapter 16

But without the triumph of actually being the _first human_ to be allowed to register for Professor Hale's holy-of-holies _Lupe 303_ course, he finds he does, a little, resent the _sweetheart_. It's patronizing. _Offensive_. He should probably report Hale for... something or other. He'll think of some 'respect for LGBTQIA students' college regulation he's violating, later.

“Stiles,” he says, glumly. “My name's Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Hale repeats, smiling. “Well, I want to underline how pleased I am that you have such a keen interest both in my course personally, and in learning about the fascinating history and culture of the werewolf community on the other. And while I can't make an exception to the requirements of the person specification for registration on my 303 course in this case, I would certainly encourage your further studies and closer engagement with werewolf groups and associations on-campus. To which end,” he says, suddenly jumping up and starting to rummage about on his desk, and then in the filing cabinet at the side of it -- “let me just locate you some useful contact and resource materials, and we can get you started on a potentially rewarding collaborative and synergistic involvement..."

He's chatting away. Nonstop. And this dude is, for sure, the _nerdiest_ , most charmingly enthusiastic, sweetest, hottest, most inscrutable, _unconvinceable_ asshole werewolf that Stiles has ever encountered. Even including Scott. Not that there are too many others in that category. He wouldn't be surprised to find out that Hale is just _one of a kind._ 'Not your average Alpha, that's what they say about him,' Scott had said. Well, he'd been totally right about that. Stiles is supposing, now, that _Professor Alphas_ tend to conflate two stereotypes, to the confusion of both.


	17. Chapter 17

He's getting the _brush-off._ Hale is signaling it –- very pleasantly and charmingly and _unrelentingly_ –- from a mile off. Stiles can read the signs fine, without getting landed with an armful of leaflets, contact numbers and information sheets. No doubt all about alternative courses he's already taken, or that would just duplicate what he's already taken. Hale can keep 'em. He can _stick_ 'em, as far as that's concerned. Stiles stands up as Hale shuffles, reaches into the back of the drawer, and triumphantly cries out when it seems he's found something particularly _important_ and _delightful_ that he was looking for. The impossible _geek_. What kind of an Alpha _is_ this guy, anyway? There's 'not your average Alpha', and then there's...

Stiles is on his feet and almost at the door, when Hale turns around. There's faint surprise on his face, and a folder of papers and flyers in his hand, and Stiles can feel how stony and shut down his own face is. But still, he'd better be civil. It's always a wiser option, when dealing with on-faculty staff, and especially tenured academic stars. “Sorry, I have a lecture in a few minutes,” he lies. “Got to get going –- I really appreciate it, though! If it's not too much of an imposition, I could drop by and talk to the department secretary, pick up what leaflets and book lists and such you think I'd be best checking out?” Stiles doesn't really care, and he isn't really going to drop by, on the off-chance that Hale remembers to leave sheaves of course materials with the admin staff in the departmental office. He wants to get the hell out. He's a little pissed off, truth be told.

But Hale doesn't just accede to Stiles' polite pretense of interest and desire to escape. He doesn't nod civilly, and thank God that he's got rid of yet another human attempt to board the ship, and register for his precious course. No, instead he shoves the folder of papers back in the drawer he got them from, and he moves his ass faster to suddenly be by Stiles' side than Stiles can readily process. Suddenly, he's just _there_ , and Stiles has company standing by the door with him. “Well, I'll do that,” Hale says, with that charming smile that he's probably used to crushing the hearts of co-eds with. “If you _really_ must go. But I hope this hasn't discouraged your interest in all lupine matters. And please remember, that you're always welcome to come and consult with me about any academic or more generally lupine issues that you develop an interest in.”


	18. Chapter 18

Hale smiles. Really, swear to God, it is the warmest most irresistible thing. You could warm yourself on it like a fall bonfire. He reaches out to put a hand on Stiles' arm, be damned to all codes and guidelines for faculty/student interactions. No-one could possibly take offence. It's friendly, welcoming, intimate. It's designed to disarm and to pull you in, and it does the job too. Stiles has been all ready to take massive offence, right up until this moment. But now, he's completely seduced and befuddled, and ready to just up sticks and leave quietly. Resigned to defeat, to finding some _other_ way to get on the masters' course of his choice. No hard feelings, huh?

His hand's on Stiles' arm, Professor Hale's, then. There's that lovely disarming smile on his face, and it freezes in place. And then it's so seized up, so motionless, that it's less a smile and more of a rictus. It's frozen, then it drops from his face so that he's not smiling any longer. And he doesn't actually step away from Stiles, but his body language alters, so that it's less about leaning in warmly and confidentially, and more about stiffly posing like a shop window dummy.

He's still up close, though. You could call it looking. You could probably call it _looming_. And his hand is tight –- very tight, a little uncomfortably so –- on Stiles' arm. He seems to become aware of that fact in the same moment that Stiles does, and looks down, to see his fingers digging into the smooth freckled tan flesh of Stiles' forearm, white-pressured around the fingertips. Hurriedly, he drops it, and Stiles slowly folds it into his other arm and rubs lightly, almost unconsciously, at the soon-to-be bruised flesh. “I'm sorry,” Hale says, quickly, tightly. “I was –- taken aback.”

Which doesn't at all explain why, or how come the sudden vehement response to Stiles heading for the hills. If that was what it was. He hadn't seemed to mind a bit at first –- glad to get rid of the annoying pesky human so easily, no doubt. It was only when they'd got up close that he'd seemed to take some kind of weird offence...


	19. Chapter 19

But anyway, no harm done. And Stiles just wants to get out. Partly because he's worried, that his resentment and disappointment will flood out. He might catch himself saying something sharp and cutting and unwisely honest, before he can quite stop it and keep his mouth closed. However disappointed you may be, there are some things –- in fact a whole heap of things –- that it is very impolitic to say. Or at least, to say to, or about someone who wields considerable clout in the academic circles to which you aspire.

So, Stiles bites his lip, and he turns to go. He'll find some other course that'll be acceptable for the masters' institutions he's applying to, that will give him the background for the book he's planning out, that will serve the purpose... It'll be difficult. He's under no illusions on that issue.

He's sulking enough to have the beginnings of tears at the corners of his eyes.

“You can register for the course.”

It's six words that don't even make any sense to his inner ear, not straight off. Frankly, he's too upset to be parsing and analyzing anything anyone says to him right now, including Hale. His hand is on the handle of the door, jiggling it a little. But his brain is so fired up, and his hand so trembly with frustration and irritability, that he's not actually effectively making a concerted attempt to open it.

Mostly he's trying not to cry, with the irritability of not getting his own way. (Stiles does like to get his own way.) Maybe that's why Hale repeats himself, so that Stiles can gather himself together into calmness, can understand.

“You can,” Hale says. “You can register for the course.”


	20. Chapter 20

Okay, and that's enough times to get through. Stiles stops fiddling with the door handle, and turns around. Oh, boy, Hale is up close still. And as that fact clearly registers on his own face, Hale's face –- still unsmiling, compared to his warm and lovely greeting –- grows yet more somber. 

Hale takes a step back. And clears his throat, which is rasping, deep, much more obviously and dominantly masculine than his entire manner and approach thus far. Stiles would never have pinned him for a wolf at all, still less an Alpha. Not until this moment.

But now, as comprehension seeps through and Stiles realizes that, hell, he's got what he wanted, he also realizes something else. Something, that is, about Hale. He's a wolf, all right, an Alpha, all right. He hides in plain sight, with that bumbling, charming professorial act he puts on. But he's an alpha wolf, just like every _other_ alpha wolf underneath it: dominant, dangerous, a potential threat.

And who gives a damn? Because he's given Stiles what he wants, and that's the really crucial point at issue. Who gives a damn about what he is, and what mask he adopts. Who gives a _flying_ one about _why_. Stiles is filled with elation, feels himself grow a couple of inches as his spine straightens. Hale's face lights with warmth for the briefest moment, as Stiles smiles at him. Stiles, blushing with it, not caring a bit. “That's awesome!” he exclaims. He could bounce on his heels, his toes, with the euphoria of it. “Thank you just _so much_ for this!” And he's ready to bound out of the office, to get the hell out before Hale even has so much as a chance to change his mind. But then something gives him pause.

(Maybe something in the set, flat grimness of Hale's face, that momentary flare of warmth extinguished? Stiles doesn't know why he has to look so hagridden about it, like he just _killed_ somebody, or he just got bad, bad, awful news)

Anyhow he glares at Stiles –- all of his charm and bonhomie has gone _bye-bye_ , seems like. “Fine,” he says, cold as you please. “Pick up a course description and reading list from the department office. First lecture two weeks from Tuesday. Bring all relevant materials for practicals, equipment, special clothing, book-list, et cetera. You'll have to excuse me now. I'm afraid I have urgent non-negotiable... business to deal with.” The speed and lack of ceremony with which Stiles is ushered out of the office... Well. There is no tact or charm about it. In a bare fraction of a second he finds himself standing, juddering and immobile, on the outside of the office door, with Hale once more lurking within. Stiles is clutching his backpack. He has a vague dazed feeling, and he's trying to remember the instructions Hale gave him. He's not puzzling it all through, he's not trying to work out what just happened.

That can come later.


	21. Chapter 21

“He _let you onto the course?_ ” Scott asks. They're sitting in the biggest campus coffee-bar, the one with poutine on the menu, and a forest of greenery under the glass roof. It does better pie than any of the others, and Stiles is busy digging into a big slice of the graham cracker crumb cream, has bought Scott one too. As far as he's concerned, they're celebrating.

“I don't even understand,” Scott says. He's shaking his head, down into the plateful of pie he's gazing at. “Stiles. He doesn't _let_ humans onto that course. It's a _thing_. Everybody knows it. Why –- what. How did you talk him into it?"

“I would have thought you would be pleased. Or more pleased than _this_ ,” Stiles says placidly. “You're my _pal_. You remember that you're my pal, right? You're supposed to be _pleased_ for me when something really great happens.” And it is great, really great. He's staring down at his plate, too, but a big spontaneous smile wells up and bursts out on his face. Wow. He _got on the course._

“Yeah,” Scott says, distracted. “It's great. I couldn't be more pleased for you.” Yeah, _right_. “Did he say anything about _why_ he changed his mind, and overturned years of established custom and precedent? For you? For little old you, Stiles?”

And Stiles pauses, with a forkful of terrific pie halfway to his mouth, and considers the question. “Well. Interesting point,” he concedes, and gives it some more thought. “He... told me it was lovely to have people so interested in the subject,” he says, vaguely paraphrasing. “And that although he couldn't allow me on the course, he was keen to encourage my interest, and it was very laudable _et cetera._ He got me some reading materials out, and he was practically shoving me out the door, when he changed his mind suddenly. Suddenly it was all on, I was on the course, no problem, just turn up in two weeks.” The pie was terrific.

“You didn't tell me how cute he was,” Stiles adds.


	22. Chapter 22

And Scott chews that info over for a moment, at the same time as Stiles is chewing on pie. “Did he seem to like you?” he asks, finally. He isn't looking at Stiles, not one bit.

“ _Like_ me?” Stiles asks. It doesn't seem like anything relevant. He got what he wanted, he is _Stiles victorious._ Which is exactly the way he likes it. And he's officially on the course. (You can bet your ass he practically _ran_ to the departmental office and scribbled out the formal registration papers for 303. Before dashing back –- very quietly –- to slide them into Professor Hale's pigeonhole, thankfully located in the department foyer. Rather than beside his office door, where the creepy super-auditory-sharpness wolfy-type would have been able to hear Stiles creeping up from a million miles away. Those papers are in, and hopefully –- Stiles hopes and prays –- Hale has stuck to his word, and affixed his signature to them real good. _Real_ real good. Stiles wonders how well a lawsuit would work out, based on a verbal agreement to allow someone on a college course, without witnesses. _Boy_ , he wants on this course.)

But he shrugs at Scott, anyhow, with a slick of the icecream he's having with his pie catching his nose, as he flicks his head up with a loaded spoon in his hand. “Sure. I mean, he was nice. Really nice,” he says, considering it thoughtfully. “You were so right, though. He is not remotely what anyone would expect from an Alpha werewolf. He was a gentleman, a sweetheart, and... “ Stiles thinks about it. He thinks about the intentions he went into Hale's office with, all guns blazing. And then, how within really just the space of a few short minutes, he was meek, cowed, and all ready to be ushered out and rendered an inactivated explosive. Hale changed his mind off his own bat, nothing to do with Stiles. Well, as far as Stiles knows about it, anyway. “He was very clever,” he adds slowly, to Scott. “Actually, I have a feeling –- having acquired a little bit of hindsight –- that's he's an extremely astute, extremely manipulative bastard. But he sure comes across as a real darling. On first encounter.”


	23. Chapter 23

Scott is watching him closely, or as closely as he can manage it, given what close attention he's also affording the milkshake he's sucking down, putting some serious wolf-powered suction pressure on that bendy straw. “Hmm,” he says, letting up on the poor abused dairy beverage, and wiping a hand across his mouth so that he captures strawberry smoothie and -- is that lip-gloss? -- both. (Chapstick. It's probably chapstick. But that's definitely mascara on his pretty lashes.) “Yeah. Well, he's certainly an incredible scholar. And smart in other ways than book-learnin', too,” he concedes. “And very powerful, what with his academic position, as well as being alpha of a multiple-county pack. He didn't get to be that way, and in that position, without there being more to him than the charming smoothie he seems like on first encounter. Which, yeah, is his rep.” And Stiles gets the benefit of a sidelong glance, before Scott returns his attention to his smoothie. “I guess he must have liked you. Or something. To allow something so unheard of, for a human. And you liked him, right?”

It's an interesting question. And Stiles figures that he could have answered it easily, if he hadn't had that little revelation two minutes ago. “I wouldn't say I disliked him,” he says slowly. “He's very hard to dislike, I think. A very magnetic dude. Compelling, you could say.” He thinks about it some more, and grins. “Plus he's just given me exactly what I want, so what the hell, he's the greatest guy in the universe right now.”

And Scott laughs, at that. “Yeah, yeah, tell me about it,” he observes. “I know you like to get your own way!”

“In every way,” Stiles agrees comfortably, not a bit discomfited by the description. That's pretty much everybody on earth, isn't it? Not just him. “Does that mean you're going to introduce me to your cousin Danny, when he comes to visit you this weekend?”

He only gets a groan in response, initially. Stiles doesn't have a particular romantic or sexual thing going for wolves, especially –- that's not what his researches and studies and career ambitions regarding supernatural fauna and lore are about. But he'd be willing to make an exception in the case of Scott's cousin Danny, who he's only met in the flesh once. But he's been getting increasingly interested via glimpses and Facebook posts including this guy –- this hot young werewolf guy –- via Scott's social media accounts, and the starring roles he often takes in Scott's mesmerising tales of his childhood as part of a wolf-pack. (That he's not willing to tell half often enough to suit Stiles' thirst to hear about it. “I didn't come to college to re-engage with all this wolfy pack crap!” is what he tends to exclaim, when Stiles whines and pleads and petitions for more stories about moon-runs and bites and transmogrification. Scott is chafing at the bit and choking under the close attention and bonds of pack and family. More wolves in his life is the last thing he wants.)

“Come on,” Stiles pressures, taking a tongue to the sugar on his doughnut. “You're not going to try to keep me apart from his fine wolf-like furry ass, are you? Because he looks like a cutie. What, I'm not good enough for a cousin of yours, just because I don't suit up at full moon in fancy dress and start yipping like Lassie?” Stiles perks his head on one side, chin in hands, and makes wide doe-eyes at his buddy. Who sighs, and throws his hands up.


	24. Chapter 24

“Stiles,” he says. And if his voice weren't so thickly larded with exaggerated patience, then it might be fair to describe it as _annoyed_. “I don't want to talk about Danny. Not right now. Because a) he 's a pain in my butt, and because b) so are _you_ , and furthermore, c) I actually still want to talk about...”

But he trails off to a halt, his eyes going glazed, unfocussed, as he stares over at the coffeeshop counter behind Stiles' head. “Hale,” he says slowly.

Stiles feels a little phased. Scott isn't exactly his most standard, socially-homogenized friend, even barring the whole werewolf issue. But he's not usually quite this out of it, this much verging upon the limits of comprehensibility. Then he notices Scott's eyes actually focusing upon a concentrated point, and something moves, adjusts in place. Feeling a sudden awareness, he turns his head a little to look towards the coffeeshop counter. To the hissing milk steamers, the pink-overalled staff members.

He's not the only one looking, of course. Hale is there. Tall, but not overbearingly so, compactly muscular but sparely and concisely built, thick dark hair faintly greying at the temples, dark hazel eyes... fixed on Stiles, quite fixed. Stiles didn't notice half so many details about him earlier in the morning. It's like his vision has sharpened and refined... exclusively in relation to Hale.

Weird.


	25. Chapter 25

But after a moment's goggle-eyed gazing, Stiles fortunately thinks to smile. Because, after all, this attractive, slightly unsettling individual –- who Stiles thinks may _possibly_ be an unmitigated asshole, behind the charm, behind the impenetrable wall of graceful soft-voiced maneuvering –- has _given Stiles what he asked him for._ Stiles is all in favor of this guy, including if he actually is the asshole he suspects. No skin off Stiles' nose, after all.

He smiles, wide and bright, the best smile he's got at his disposal. Considering what a font of charm and welcome Hale has been, he expects a smile back. He doesn't get one, but Hale comes over anyway. He's beside Stiles before Stiles knows it, and that's good. That's grand.

(Even with the little chill that comes over him, out of nowhere. What's that about? Even if Hale _is_ a very clever manipulator, he's also a charming and attractive guy. That's all good, right? He's a leader in his field. He's a font of knowledge. Stiles should be networking the hell out of him, while he has the chance. He _will_ network the hell out of him. This is an opportunity that may never come again.)

“Mr Stilinski,” Hale greets him. No, his face wasn't half this serious –- cold, you might say –- earlier this same morning. “Good to see you again. I just came over to let you know that I've signed off on your registration forms. You're officially on the course.”

Oh, well, great. Stiles is happy about that, of course. He smiles up at Hale –- it feels weirdly fake, but he smiles just the same. “Thanks!” he says, brightly. He'd say more –- a lot of gushing, effusive, deeply sincere thanks, to make sure Hale knows that his unprecedented favor is appreciated. He doesn't get the chance, though.

“Hi, Professor Hale!” Scott says. He's up on his feet, upright with that _honest and decent_ look on his face that Stiles has learnt to look beyond. And his bright shiny hazel eyes are fixed on the new dude in the room. Scott is good at that –- he's a terrific networker, a hub of activity, a magnet. A wolf-magnet, even. One wolf knows another, right? There are customs and expectations, in the lupine community, subtle acknowledgments required. But this doesn't seem exactly like that.


	26. Chapter 26

Hale doesn't seem all that inclined to pay him a butt-load of attention. But Scott isn't really the sort of guy to knuckle under and _accept_ someone's inattention, to move on elsewhere. Hale smiles at him briefly, politely, when he sticks out his hand and says, “Scott McCall, of the McCall clan of Beacon Hills." That's all. And he even turns slightly away from Scott, back towards Stiles. But Scott interposes himself between the two of them –- not completely, but just enough that there's no way Hale can pretend not to notice him. And Hale's eyes lose a trace of vagueness, with Scott in his line of vision. His mouth tightens just a fraction –- but he smiles good-humoredly enough, and shakes Scott's hand with a little roll of the eyes. It says much about what he thinks about being trapped into social niceties, when he has other objectives in mind.

“Good to meet you, McCall. I'm acquainted with your grandmother,” he says, still not really giving Stiles's bud his full attention. It's more as if the information and calculation comes ticking over and out of his mouth automatically, while he's figuring out something else, with his sober, thoughtful hazel eyes on Stiles instead. “She's an excellent dam to the clan. Anyone would be proud.”

“Isn't she great?” Scott agrees. “I'm glad I have someone to vouch for me, because I was planning to ask a favor, Prof.” And, _uh-oh_ , Stiles thinks. He hasn't been forewarned about this. It's never good not to be forewarned about anything that Scott decides to get up to. A bit late to try to head him off at the pass and get the gen on what he's got up his sleeve, before letting it loose on Professor Hale, now. Much too late, because Scott's mouth is still open, and he's charging ahead. “I wasn't going to apply for _Lupe 303_ myself this year –- I'm on a nursing concentration, and although I have a few electives, as a born wolf I used to feel that I had plenty of training and cultural background in the supe studies area. But, you know...” His sincere brown eyes sparkle, and he _glows_ at Hale, the way that only Scott can do.

Stiles is a bit annoyed. He doesn't like it much, this turn of events. He just... he doesn't like it, okay? Why does Scott always have to horn in on the field when Stiles is making a connection, has a project in place? Although –- he stops and corrects himself –- of course, the professor isn't a _connection_ , exactly... Well, not in _that_ way. He's one of Stiles' professors –- a _senior_ , _venerable_ , _mature_ and _trusted_ mentor-figure in his life. Hopefully. Potentially.

Whom Scott is horning in on. Stiles nods to himself, pleased with this redefinition. But not so pleased with Scott. Who is adding, “Stiles's been so enthused about the whole thing, talking about getting himself onto the course and how to talk you into it, that it's kinda lit a spark of enthusiasm in me, too. I just can't wait to find out more and really throw myself into the subject! So, what do you say, Prof.?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

Stiles debates sharpening his smoothie straw and stabbing Scott with it.


	27. Chapter 27

But Professor Hale doesn't seem any more than pleasantly amused. Or perhaps intrigued. He looks at Scott, speculatively. (Scott gets a lot of speculation from men, as well as women. As well as a lot of outright blatant attention. It's so _unfair_. Scott has _never_ been in doubt as to whether gay guys find him attractive. No doubt on the matter whatsoever.) “You're a wolf, then,” Hale says. Not really for confirmation, because Stiles knows enough about weres, with a were buddy, to know that Hale can sense it for himself. “That's normally the main pre-condition,” he says, with light emphasis –- and he looks briefly at Stiles. It seems a _meaning_ sort of look, with the kind of meaning that Stiles hasn't the lexicon to decode. “But as we've all learned today, it seems that _all_ my conditions are flexible –- certainly if that particular one is.”

Scott smiles hopefully at him, doing a sweetly boyish and ingenuous thing that doesn't have a lot to do with who he really is. As Stiles knows full well. “I'm so interested in your methods and approach!” he says, earnest and keen. Really, he's over-doing it a bit.

There's an amused quirk to Hale's beautiful mouth, if not an outright smile. “Well, I do enjoy an eager pupil,” he says –- and, what? What the _fuck_? Is that _flirtation_ from him, that Stiles is hearing? Not that it bothers him. Why would it bother him? It's just not like the guy he seemed at first to be, that's all. Although, Stiles reminds himself, he's already revised his first impressions, even at this early date. 

Hale is clearly not _quite_ the uncomplicated sweetheart Stiles had initially taken him for.


	28. Chapter 28

“Currently all places on the course are filled,” he continues, smoothly. And Stiles gets a swift look from him. He thinks it's a little bit wry. It's very considered, too, it's –- it's a moment, all right? (Is he sure what's going on here? Not really.) “ _Really_ filled,” he adds drily. “To the _brim_. But,” he says, turning back to Scott, “a couple of students are a little wobbly about whether they'll actually be able to attend, what with non-electives and final year projects and what have you. If you want to give me your email address, then I can let you know if a place falls vacant. I'm assuming you've checked that you can fulfill all of the other course requirements aside from the supernatural group status issue?”

He raises an eyebrow, and Scott smiles at him brilliantly. “Oh, of course!” he says, beaming. “And that's fantastic! Fingers crossed! I'm really excited!” Then he gets this pop-eyed look on his face, a really bulgy-eyed excitement. It's a look that Stiles has learned to interpret with foreboding, and to head off at the pass if it can possibly be done. It's more difficult when there's a third party present. Otherwise, he might just get a hold of his buddy by the backhair, give it a quick tug to get eye contact, and say firmly, “No. Whatever it is you've got fermenting in your evil little brain, to get that gleam in your eye, no. That's all. _No_.”

He can't really say it here and now, though. Which is a shame, because Scott has his uneven, yet lovely mouth open all over again, to say something more. “ _Two_ places, you say?” His sweet, oddly handsome face, vaguely foxy and long-boned even when he's human-form, is intrigued, plotting. Anyone else would say, _innocent_. But Stiles knows him. “Funny you should say, Prof. -- because my cousin is arriving shortly, on campus, to do a guest semester for his final year. And I know he's going to be looking for some advanced lupine studies courses to take. You think you could put him on your shortlist, for if both your dicey students drop out of the course?” he asks, sweetly. He's batting his lashes at Hale, with the most flirtatious skittishness ever witnessed in anyone not playing a twenties' flapper in some musical revival.

And before Hale can even open his mouth –- maybe to head off a refusal at the pass –- Scott grabs for his phone, and is flicking to his photo file to show Hale something. “Look, here he is, isn't he a sweetheart? My favorite cousin, a wonderful guy, McCall clan like me, and he'll be here on campus for a year or two. What do you think?” There's the slightest pause, and then he goes on to say, “If you need a reference for him, it's not just me. Stiles will put in a word for the guy. He has a _thing_ for him, and will tell you what a stand-up do-right guy he is. Huh, Stiles?” His voice is hopeful. 

Stagily so. But when he turns to Stiles, there's a look in his eyes that isn't remotely innocent. It's sly and conniving, judging actions in the light of possible _re_ actions. “He thinks he's _wonderful_. Don't you, Stiles?” he asks. There's all the innocence in the world in his voice.

Scott has used up the world's supply of elaborately semaphored innocence. Call the Stock Exchange, people.


	29. Chapter 29

If Stiles knew exactly what Scott was up to, then he could maybe formulate an effective defense, and frustrate him before he gets his wicked way. Whatever that might be. But really, what the heck _is_ he up to? Scott, though, his eyes spin back to Hale. He smiles again, sweet and docile.

Hale doesn't look as sweet and docile as Scott does. It's not _exactly_ like the wolf is threatening, coming out and trying to make it to the surface. And Stiles has Scott, has hung out with wolves. He knows that of which he speaks. But still, there's a motionless _waiting_ in Hale's face, behind his eyes, that is nothing like the genial sweetheart Stiles met earlier this same morning. With that love of a guy, you not only wouldn't have had him pinned for a wolf, you wouldn't have thought him capable of temper, or punishment. Or even having a _slightly miffed_ hissy fit.

But his face, now, puts Stiles right on that issue. And it's Stiles he's looking at now, rather than Scott. Who's still blithely rabbiting on, about _wolf packs_ and _extra credit_ and _guest students_ and _transfers_ and... who knows what. “Is that so?” he asks. He's not asking Scott, no. “Is he so wonderful?”


	30. Chapter 30

Well, Stiles feels uncomfortable. “Danny's a good guy,” he says, a little awkwardly. “As far as I know.”

“Hm.” That's all Hale has to say in response to that. But his eyes are tight and intent on Stiles. And Stiles is aware, too, that Scott is watching the pair of them, even though his light gentle voice is still running on. Then Hale's attention is abruptly off Stiles again, and he turns to Scott. “I have no objection if both places fall vacant. He'll have to put in the paperwork as soon as he's on campus, though. I'll email you if one or both places become available. Well,” he says. “Good to meet you both.” And he sticks his hand out to Scott, again. Although the shake is civil and urbane, the look on his face is an unsmiling scrutiny. Where has all of his careless, warm, slightly nerdy charm gone?

He nods at Stiles, sharply. “Mr Stilinski,” he says with the nod. “Next Tuesday: make sure you've read the list of course requirements, the equipment and book lists. I'll see you then.” And with that he's turned his back on them, and is weaving his way out through the crowds massing in the coffeeshop now at early brunchtime. His grace is noticeable, here. How people unconsciously make way for him, women's –- and men's –- eyes falling upon and following him. A wolf pretending to be a harmless eager labrador, Stiles thinks, _that's_ what he is. Even the sway of his back, getting further away, is beautiful.

He doesn't realize how closely he's watching, just how gripped he is by the view, until he gets a poke in the ribs and comes to a realization of it himself. And also realizes that it's Scott, poking him hard, with a wide feral grin on his pretty, vaguely wild face. Scott looks like someone who thinks that he knows far too much. He looks like that an _awful lot._

“So,” Scott says, innocently conversational. “You and _Hale_ , huh? The pair of you... huh.” His voice is reflective, faux-puzzled. Playful. And there's a little smirk on his face, as he sits back down and begins to toy with his pastry, like he's said nothing at all of any real moment.


	31. Chapter 31

Stiles sits down too, slower, giving Scott a hard look. Trouble-maker, he is, and has been all the two years or so that Stiles's been pals with him. Can't leave well alone, when he thinks he knows best! And Stiles isn't about to say _what do you mean._ Because it's all too clear _exactly_ what Scott means. Even though it's damn silly, ridiculous. To pretend he can't work it out for himself would be disingenuous, and Stiles despises being disingenuous. He's better than that.

“What are you talking about?” then, is what he says, taking a yanking, irritable bite out of his doughnut. And damn, that is obviously _not_ the approach that he'd intended to take. What happened to expressing himself fully and frankly?

But all he gets out of Scott, in response to the question, is the slyest smile. “Nothing. Not a thing, baby! I just think this course is going to be interesting, that's all. Like really, _really_ interesting.”

Stiles gives him a very mistrustful look. But Scott averts his eyes and sips at his latte, with an innocent face and a faint rumble of self-satisfaction in his chest, all the wolf in him only a very little below the surface. Stiles abandons the struggle to get him to explain himself further before he even begins. Scott talks when he wants to talk, and only tells what he wants to tell.

Scott is too strong and aggressive in his wolf nature to give away a thing he doesn't want to. But on the other hand, Stiles' human nature is sly, sneaky, acquisitive and inquisitive as any monkey. If there's something he wants to know about... then he'll find out about it, eventually.

Stiles isn't worried. He can bide his time, easy.


	32. Chapter 32

But that's as much as he gets out of Scott, in the intervening time until the first lecture of the course on the Tuesday. What's more important is that Scott gets an email from Professor Hale. Stiles reads it too -- of course. It's a lot more abrupt and concise than his manner in person. But anyhow. It informs Scott that, serendipitously, both students with wavering commitment to _Lupe 303_ have formally notified the student office that they intend to withdraw from the course.

And that gives the green light to both Scott, and cousin Danny, to register. Fortunately, they've been earmarked by Hale as first in line, to pluck at those rare and valued registration places when and if one –- or two –- should open up. Still, as Hale warns Scott in his terse text, neither place will be held open _indefinitely_. So it's lucky that when Danny breezes into town later than expected, rather than the week before classes start, the extra place is still available when he goes to register.

Okay, okay, Stiles has only met him the couple of times. But it's a big deal to Stiles just the same, when Danny hits town, and is just as adorably cute as Stiles remembers.

Oh boy. This semester is gonna be _fun_.

***

“We should form a study group! I think the three of us would work really well together. Or, you know, if Scott is busy, what with all his extra-curricular clubs and dance classes and everything, you and me could totally breeze through all of the set reading and essay questions in about half of the semester, get ourselves prepared way ahead of time! So what do you think?”

It's _not_ like Stiles has an actual legit full-blown crush on Danny –- or not yet, at least. He's about half of the way there, maybe. And now they're standing in the departmental lobby for Supernatural Studies, where Danny has just –- just in time –- handed in his registration papers for the 303 course.

He's smiling at Stiles, from his three-inch height advantage. Lazy and charming, as beautiful as most wolves seem to be. And with that faint glint to the eye, the very slightly longer than human canines that are tells, for those as know what they're looking for. He's definitely amused, this charming wolfhound college boy, and he doesn't need to say a _word_ to be teasing Stiles. “What?” Stiles protests. Because even if Danny hasn't _said_ it, he's still heard the unspoken tease perfectly well.

And between them, reading through the course prospectus while leaning against the notice-board, Scott rolls his eyes as he reads. He doesn't even bother to look up at the two of them. Just shakes his head, and mutters something about _completely transparent_ , that Stiles isn't going to dignify by acknowledging that he can hear it.

But Danny doesn't seem to hear him either. Or even with werewolf hearing, he's too tactful –- too much of a sweetie –- to let it _show_ that he does. He smiles –- and wow, he really has the most dazzling smile, the sweetness just _beams_ out of it. Maybe Stiles is a bit over-excitable, as a result. He prods Danny in the chest -- because he is _forward_ , always has been, and hell, _might as well go after what you want_ , right? “What do you say?”


	33. Chapter 33

Maybe it's _too_ forward. He panics for a moment that Scott is maybe right. But no, it's _not_ too forward, because Danny reaches to take the poking hand in his own, and squeezes it. “Sure, why not,” he says, lazily, and grins at Stiles. Stiles gets the feeling he's being indulged here, maybe not being taken quite seriously. But that's okay. It's a foundation to work on.

And Scott snorts out a laugh. He glances up at them, with a quick boggle-eyed look at Stiles that wordlessly says – what? Stiles isn't sure exactly, but _something_. And that's how the three of them are arranged, like statues, like a trio of china decorations. Scott is lounging, and Stiles and Danny are hand in hand. They're gazing at each other with a bright, tentative look, that Stiles can feel on his own face.

That's how they're _dancing_ , almost, when there's a fast, sharp inhale, loud, and someone walks behind –- from behind Stiles –- into the lobby. And Stiles turns around. It's been just the three of them up until then, and a newcomer is noticeable. But even before he does that, he almost unconsciously notices that Danny's face alters. It's been lazy, pleased, maybe just maybe a little bit smug too. (In a nice way.) But the first sight –- no, the instant before that, even, you could say the first _scent_ –- of the new person in the vicinity, has his pupils dilated. The smile is stilled, and then wiped off his face. He doesn't take a step back, and yet everything about his posture and his body language says that he _wants_ to. He does everything _but_.

Stiles doesn't have _moment one_ to be curious, because the newcomer is turning around. It's Hale. 

So Danny's reaction seems odd, maybe a little off. But maybe they know each other already, he thinks, tucking it away. Or something.


	34. Chapter 34

So he registers, at some level, that it's odd that Danny has such a strong reaction. Sure, he's a beta in the McCall pack, and Hale is an alpha. But that isn't something that can account for _all_ of it. Stiles has read pretty extensively at this point: he may be a little obsessed with the subject of wolf packs. And civilities and pack courtesies, between beta and alpha, require nothing more than a lowering of the head, a slight diversion of the torso to one side for the beta in deference. Just for a moment, even that. No head on, straight ahead confrontation. And that's it, even for betas from different packs with a strange alpha.

Unless there's any pre-existing hostilities between packs, of course. Or immediate reason in the current circumstances for hostilities to break out, something fresh.

Stiles stands and looks between them a moment, puzzled. Because he can't quite understand it. But maybe he imagined it, because it seems as if Danny controls himself within the space of a second and a half. And anyhow, Scott just leaps in and takes over in that tiny awkward moment. And Scott is a wolf, himself. He'd know if there was any kind of a turf battle going on, here in the departmental lobby, right?

Which is ridiculous, anyway, is laughable. “Hey, Prof!” Scott calls out, to where Hale stands in the entryway, giving them a hooded and unreadable look. “Just exactly the dude I was wanting to see!”

(Scott. _Scott_.)


End file.
